Ocean Waves

by Terri Thayer

  I thought about what I’d seen. The missing sewing kit was there and then gone again. What did that mean? Mercedes had taken it from the chapel. Why? Or had she found it?

  I needed to talk to Nan, the sewing tool expert. Had Mercedes told her that she’d found the kit? I wasn’t looking forward to telling her that the box had disappeared again. She’d looked miserable about it the first time. How many times can a heart break before it’s irreparable?

  I found the officer in charge and asked permission to leave.

  “Give me your cell number,” he said.

  That was a wrinkle. “Sorry, I don’t have it. Ms. Madsen, the dead woman, insisted on collecting our cells at the beginning of the week. It’s probably in there,” I said, nodding my head toward Mercedes’ room. Part of the sealed crime scene.

  He made a note. “How can I reach you?”

  Tony stepped forward. “This is my sister, Officer Graham. I’ll make myself available to contact her whenever you need her.”

  “I’m staying at Asilomar for the rest of the week,” I said. I gave him a QP business card. “After that, you can get me here.”

  “You didn’t enter the room when Ranger Pellicano did?” he said.

  I shook my head earnestly. Well, I didn’t.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  I had to stop myself from running away. I couldn’t wait to be out of there. I would leave the detecting to the professionals. I just wanted to know about the sewing kit and how it related back to Ursula Wiggins. Or the Ghost.

  I didn’t stick around to see Mercedes’ body being removed.

  ___

  Where would Nan be? I tried to remember what class she’d said she was in, but I couldn’t. I’d have to check all the classrooms or wait for dinner.

  As I passed the bike rack outside the Administration building, I saw the pay phone. For the first time in days, I was free to call Buster without interference. I fed coins to the phone eagerly.

  He didn’t answer. Probably still in court. I felt the disappointment like a blow to the gut. My eyes filled with tears. I really wanted to tell him what had just happened. I shook myself, trying to escape the feelings that Mercedes’ death was dragging up in me. Feelings of dread, of waste, of the pain we humans inflicted on each other. Buster could always help me put things in perspective.

  I walked through the Asilomar grounds, peeking into classrooms, trying to catch sight of Nan.

  If Mercedes took the Rose Box, what had she done with the German Cross box? Maybe she ransomed that one off already. To Harriet. How much would Harriet pay to get that abomination out of circulation?

  I knew where Harriet was. In Legendary Quilts. I started to go back to my class.

  I looked into the buildings as I walked, trying to see if I could spot Nan’s head among the students.

  I pulled open the door to Evergreen, where my class was being held. Cinnamon nodded to me. I mouthed an apology. She smiled. But Harriet was not in the room.

  I asked Lucy as I sat down, “Did Harriet come back after lunch?”

  She shook her head. “She went to lie down before we ate. Said she had a massive headache.”

  Lucy was excited about something else. She showed me pictures she’d found. “My grandfather was an original Pirate,” she said proudly. “You know, the first men that lived here at Asilomar. Carlos let me borrow these pictures from the dining hall. I have to have them back before dinner.”

  I recognized the black and white shots of Asilomar interiors. Many of these were the places I’d been photographing earlier. The white writing identified Lucy’s grandfather as one of the grinning young men dressed in white T-shirts and jeans.

  “He looks very rakish,” I said.

  Lucy smiled. “Not exactly the man I knew.”

  “Isn’t it fun?” I asked. “To get to know him as a unattached guy?”

  Lucy concurred. Cinnamon asked for our attention. I was stuck in class for the afternoon. I’d already missed so much of the class, I couldn’t walk out again.

  “Let your ideas percolate,” Cinnamon said. “Without looking at the pictures you’ve taken, continue sewing. Let the mindless rhythm of the machine free your mind. You’ll be amazed at the connections you make.”

  My mind swirled as I sewed, but instead of seeing the pictures of the buildings I’d taken, I was getting images of Mercedes, Ursula’s cape, the sewing boxes. I fed bits of fabric under the presser foot and let my mind wander.

  Why did Ursula make the trek to Asilomar just to end her life? According to Paul, she came here every year. According to Mercedes, she’d stopped coming years ago. Who was right?

  I didn’t come up with any answers. Only more questions.

  As soon as the dinner bell rang, I ran over to the dining hall. I positioned myself on the broad outdoor steps, right next to the menu board, so I could see everyone who entered. I would catch Nan or Harriet, whoever came first.

  Red came up the steps. I saw Freddy and Quentin approaching.

  “Coming in?” she said to me.

  “In a minute,” I said.

  “I’ll save you a seat.”

  She looked at Freddy and Quentin as they caught up with her. “If it isn’t the Doublemint Twins. Are you two a couple, or what?”

  Freddy looked dismayed, as though his innate heterosexuality should be evident beneath his groomed nails and purple polyester.

  I heard him recounting the number of girlfriends he had as they entered. Quentin was chuckling.

  I kept watching. After a few minutes of solid traffic, only a few stragglers remained. I was surprised to see several rangers, including my brother, gathering. They were solemn. Tony nodded at me, but his face was grim.

  “We need everyone inside,” said the oldest ranger, tall and thin, with distinguished gray temples. His badge said Ranger Kirby. His authority was unmistakable.

  I obeyed and found a seat near Sherry and Red. Freddy joined us. I saw Nan across the room. She must have gotten here before I did. I wanted to ask about Harriet, but Ranger Kirby held up his hand to get our attention.

  Tony and the other rangers, men and women, stood at parade rest, their hands clasped behind their backs.

  “I’m sorry to inform you that the body of your conference leader, Mercedes Madsen, has been found.”

  “The body?” a woman hissed next to me.

  “Sssh,” Red said. She was joined by others in the room, effectively silencing everyone into stunned acquiescence.

  I was thinking how grateful I was that I hadn’t been the one to find Mercedes. Another body. I’d seen more than my share in the last year. Too many dead people.

  The ranger continued, “There has never before been a shooting death at Asilomar. We take our duties very seriously. We will be assisted in the investigation by the Pacific Grove Police, and the Monterey County Sheriff’s department.”

  I heard the whispering start up again.

  “Shooting?”

  “She was murdered …” someone said.

  “We want to talk to anyone who has information about Ms. Madsen’s whereabouts today. We will be using the ranger station as our command central. We will be conducting interviews there. Before you leave here, you must give us your contact information and set up an appointment to talk with law enforcement.”

  I looked at my brother. I hadn’t thought of the Rangers as a military organization, but it was quite clear now. Tony’s face was blank.

  The ranger continued, “We can assure you that you are safe here. We’ve assigned more ranger patrols. We are at your disposal. We want to make sure the rest of your week is as successful as the first half. To that end, we hope you will remain on-site.”

  The rangers filed out.

  I caught up to
Tony.

  “Have the police talked with Paul Wiggins?” I asked.

  Tony waited for the other rangers to disperse before he asked, “Why?”

  “I told you. He had a big fight with Mercedes the day before.”

  “The police have probably had a word with him.”

  “You have to make sure, Tony. He hated Mercedes. If you could have seen the two of them together …”

  “Whoa, girl. I’m not about to tell the police how to do their job. And I suggest you stay clear of it.”

  “What about the gun?”

  “What about it?” Tony asked, clearly wanting to move on.

  I persisted, “Did you find the fake gun in Mercedes’ room? It should have been there.”

  He was shaking his head. “How big was this gun, Dewey?”

  “Small. Tiny, no bigger than the palm of my hand.”

  “Mercedes was killed with a small caliber bullet, but the weapon hasn’t been recovered. I’ve got to go, Dewey.”

  I wandered back to my table. The room was abuzz with chatter.

  The door to the dining hall was swept open dramatically. A woman strode up the middle aisle, wearing a colorful scarf wrapped around her head. She was wearing zebra-striped sandals and a black linen pantsuit.

  My stomach tightened. I knew that walk. Oh no, it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

  She slowed, as if she was in slow-motion instant replay, so I could get a better look. I couldn’t see her face, but that stride was too familiar.

  I felt an elbow in my ribs. Freddy was nudging me, pointing with his right hand, his manicured nail catching the low light. He turned to me, his face filled with glee. Freddy liked nothing better than trouble, and this was trouble.

  My jaw had dropped open. Freddy used his finger to close my mouth.

  “That is so not a good look for her,” he said disapproving, using his finger to proscribe a circle in the air that took in her covered head.

  “Isn’t that your—” Sherry asked.

  “Who?” Quentin asked. He craned his neck, trying to see over the heads of the quilters in front of him. “Who is it?”

  I steadied myself on the table. The salad on the Lazy Susan smelled like fennel. The odor was acting like smelling salts, going straight to my head.

  “Let the fun begin,” Freddy said, clapping his hands joyously.

  The woman in the headscarf was Kym.

  “What has she done, converted to Islam?” Freddy said. “She’s practically wearing a burka.”

  I didn’t keep up with Kevin and Kym’s religious choices, but I was pretty sure I would have heard about that.

  “No,” I hissed. “Shut up and listen.”

  “Kym who?” Quentin asked.

  Kym spoke, her face still only partially visible. “Please pardon my appearance. I’ve been suffering from an allergic reaction to a doctor-ordered skin treatment.”

  Freddy squealed, “She’s had Botox and it went wrong. That guy injected beef fat into her skin. Or squirrel lard.”

  I jammed my elbow in his side, this time like I meant to hurt him. “Shut up.”

  “It could be a bad face peel,” Quentin put in. “If she went into the sun after a chemical peel, she would blow up like a balloon.”

  I gave them both what I hoped was a withering look. Red and Sherry exchanged a glance. Freddy squashed a giggle.

  Kym’s scarf slipped. From here, her face looked like a boiled beet. Kym looked panicked. I knew that look. She was afraid no one was listening to her. Pretty soon, she would get nasty because she felt stupid. I didn’t want to be around for that. I’d too often been the target of her tirades.

  What was she doing here? This was Mini-Mer? The fabulous assistant that Mercedes had bragged about? I couldn’t imagine Kym organizing a conference of this magnitude, with international teachers and hundreds of students.

  I had a lot of questions. But I wasn’t holding my breath for the answers. I was the last person she’d confide in.

  Too bad I couldn’t call Jenn. My employee, Jenn, had been Kym’s best friend at QP. How much of this had Jenn known? Had she known Kym would be here? I was pretty sure she knew all of it, but hadn’t told me out of loyalty to Kym.

  Kym looked everywhere, except in my direction. She cleared her throat several times, and poked a finger under her scarf, scratching. She caught herself, and held both hands in front of her, hanging on tightly.

  “I’m so sorry—” she stopped, caught her breath. Her boss was dead.

  She gathered herself, and started again. “I am Kym Pellicano.”

  At the mention of her name, Red gave me a funny look.

  “I work for Sewing-by-the-Sea. With Mercedes gone—” she choked on the word, but kept going. “I’m in charge.”

  She seemed to gain strength as the audience remained focused on her. “You’ve heard the Rangers guarantee your safety. We have two days remaining in the Sewing-by-the-Sea Symposium. I want, as I know Mercedes would have, for you to get the most out of your classes. I have met with your teachers, and they are willing to complete the coursework. Mercedes would have wanted the seminar to go on despite her early demise.”

  The crowd murmured, but there were no protests. I got the feeling that most of them were grateful to have the decision made for them. They’d come here to sew. Many had taken time off work, and arranged for care for grandkids or husbands, paid for airline tickets. A collective sigh of relief went up.

  Kym had paused, waiting for the talk to cease. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, filled with regret. “If you have any questions, I will be running things from Pirates’ Den living room. Come find me anytime.”

  The murmurs got louder, and Kym fought to maintain control of the crowd.

  She raised her voice. “Finish your meal,” she said. “Tonight’s lecture by Australian teacher, Judy Sherlock, will begin at seven in the chapel. I encourage you to attend. Judy has traveled a long distance and has gone to a lot of trouble to be here for you.”

  “This is turning out to be quite the week,” Freddy said, ticking off his fingers for emphasis. “First, an unknown lady falls into the sea. Second, two prized sewing boxes are taken, and now Mercedes murdered. Awesome.”

  “Did you know Ursula?” I asked. I didn’t realize he knew about her.

  “Who?” he asked.

  “Never mind.” Freddy just collected bad events. He didn’t really care about the people involved.

  I saw Kym sit down and pick at the food she was given. I kept an eye on her, wanting to waylay her as soon as she left. I wanted to talk to Buster, and I needed Kym to give me my cell.

  I saw her get up and leave, alone.

  “Kym!” I called. My sister-in-law was a few feet ahead of me, working her way down the stone steps to the asphalt drive below.

  She stopped and I heard her let out a tortured breath. Obviously, she knew who was calling her name.

  “Dewey,” she said, scratching her cheek under her scarf. “I don’t have a lot of time to chat. I have arrangements to make for Mercedes. I’m coordinating with her family in Oakland. Her husband and son are on their way.”

  “I don’t care about Mercedes,” I said, regretting how harsh it sounded when I heard Kym’s intake of breath. She moved away from me. I could smell the salt air and tried to take its curative powers in.

  “Wait,” I said. “That came out wrong. I meant I don’t want to keep you from your duties, I just need my phone back.”

  I caught up to her. She didn’t look at me. Her face was mostly in shadow, covered by the retro print scarf, but I could see ugly red welts on her forehead and cheeks.

  “What’s up with your face?” I asked.

  “Allergies.”

  We walked uphill, Kym’s wheezing growing wors
e as we went. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked.

  “I can’t breathe. I just need my inhaler. It’s back at the room. Whatever I’m allergic to has affected my lungs.”

  Dramatic Kym. She never had handled being sick very well. Every itch was fatal, every pimple an abscess, every sniffle a symptom of a pandemic.

  “As long as you’re here, you can turn your car keys back in.”

  How did she know? “My keys?”

  “I saw you driving earlier. Just hand them over.” She held out her palm imperiously. She seemed to have learned from Mercedes.

  “I had to drive to get Tony. He’s the one who found Mercedes.”

  She flinched slightly. “I know. He told me Mercedes was dead,” she said.

  “What do you think about her murder?”

  “I can’t think about that. If I’m going to make a go of these seminars, I have to make sure this one finishes without any more hitches.”

  A murder was a little more than a hitch.

  “What do you know?” I asked, alert to the fear in her voice. Kym knew something about Mercedes. “Was she into illegal doings?”

  Kym shut down. “As if I’m going to talk to you about Mercedes. I’ve told the police everything they need to know.”

  “Is Kevin coming down to help you?” I asked. My little brother was probably already on his way.

  To my surprise, she shook her head. Her scarf slipped and she adjusted it, tying it tighter around her neck.

  “He can’t get away. They’re behind schedule so he has to stay on his job site.”

  Her delivery was flat. It had to be killing her that Kevin couldn’t be here in her time of crisis.

  “So this is your new job?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Kym said with a defiant scowl. “I love it.”

  “How’s this going to work?” I asked. Kevin worked for my father’s construction business, based in San Jose. If Kym was going to take over Mercedes’ seminars, she’d have to be down here in Monterey six or seven weeks out of the year. She’d never before wanted to be apart from my brother. Was there trouble in paradise?